Reflections on 'To Own a Dragon' - pt 2

by Jer

(WARNING: This week's installment of the Drain again has less to do with general things that most care about and more to do with specific things that few care about. That's my convoluted way of saying I'm about to get personal and it may bore the live'n hell out of ya.)

The strange thing about fatherhood is that it compels you to do the impossible. For most first time dads, you feel the need to rule supreme over the universe around you, creating an imaginary layer protection designed to insulate your children from the big, bad world outside. To be a father is to be the master protectorate, the sentinel, the gate keeper and the key master. You are the last only defense between those you love and perverse culture "out there." You must be sovereign; you gotta be in control.

Are you kidding me? The only control I�ve mastered is the remote control.

On the way home from the hospital after the birth of my first, I found myself getting angry at the traffic for going too fast; a little post-partum road rage. Never mind the fact that I was doing 35 in a 55. Slow down! I�m carrying precious cargo! All I did was upset the baby, which is what I was trying to avoid in the first place. (Anxiety has a funny habit of becoming a self-fulfilling prophesy.)

But that instinct to protect your kids is a strong one. And anytime you feel as though you haven�t done an adequate job, the feeling is heart-wrenching, even if the end-result is just a little bump on the head.

I recently saw this year�s Oscar winner for Best Picture, Crash; and while the premise of the movie was based on racial tensions in L.A., what was most memorable for me were the scenes between a young Latino father and his little daughter. Most notably, a scene where he thought she had been shot. There was a close-up on his face as he held her close. There was no dialog. He didn�t make a sound. It was just the look and expression of pure, unadulterated agony.

I was so troubled by the scene that I started to reach for the remote to power down my DVD player just as the movie revealed that the child had been spared. It tapped into the reality that I'm not always going to be able to protect my children. That scares the hell out of me. It's also why parenting is as much about faith as it is about experience and good judgment.

It's also why the notion of divorce has become so perplexing to me. This is not intended to be an indictment of divorces; having never been divorced, so I can claim nothing but ignorance. However, wanting so badly to always be there for my children, I get puzzled when I think about my own father. Why didn�t he stick around? Why didn�t he try to make better decisions for the health of his own marriage? How could he walk away from a kid as cute as me?

A very good friend of mine, Stuart, recently got word that his father is dying and may only have a matter of weeks to live. Although I don't really know his father, I know that the two have a strong relationship, particularly since the loss of his mother. They even went in on a house together. I, on the other hand, lost my father when I was about seven years old, just a few years after my parents split. Having never really known him or experienced his presence in my life, the news of his death landed pretty lightly on me. That won't be Stuart experience.

And as odd or crass as it may sound, I�d trade places with him in a heartbeat. For while he is about to experience a painful loss, the benefit of knowing his father has provided him with an immeasurable gain across the breadth of his life; a gain that will never be lost.

I have another friend. Someone you may have heard of over the past few years. Rob Bell. He is the teaching pastor at Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids, Michigan, the author of the book Velvet Elvis and perhaps most notably, the guy in the Nooma videos.

I met Rob and his family back in 1982 (give or take a year). His family and my family both had cabins on the same lake in Michigan, so we would spend our summers together, water skiing, running around in the woods, hanging out on the beach and just generally being kids.

Initially, my friendship with Rob was forged through our shared love for things like water skiing and U2. But as I got to know him, I also got to know his family and I was able to form a relationship with his parents; a relationship I'm happy to say that has persisted throughout the years. When I spent time with Rob and his dad, I paid careful attention to their relationship and the way older took the time to mentor the younger. It was constant. It was caring. It was mutual.

Now, when I think about Rob, I don't necessarily think about the level renown he has achieved, but rather the path he took to achieve it and how the presence of his father must have played a key role in his journey. Even though he and I only touch base once in a blue moon these days, I know for Rob there was very little ambiguity - relatively speaking - once he left home. He went to Wheaton College and graduated in 1992. Shortly thereafter he attended Fuller Seminary in Pasadena, California. After he earned his M.Div, Rob returned home to Michigan where he began his ministry. The rest, as they say, is history.

In contrast, my path has been pock-marked with ambiguity and uncertainty, which leads to living without confidence. That�s a tough way to live. It�s especially tough when you know you have the smarts and the gifts, but you have no idea how to align them into practice. But it�s not just about the non-decisions, but also the foolish ones.

Don Miller talks about this dynamic in 'Dragon':

There have been times in my life when I didn't know exactly how to be. I mean, there were feelings, sometimes anger, sometimes depression, sometimes raging lust, and I was never sure what any of it was about. I just felt like killing somebody, or sleeping with some girl, or decking a guy in a bar, and I didn't know what to do with any of these feelings. Life was a confusing series of emotions rubbing against events. I wasn't sure how to manage myself, how to talk to a woman, how to build a career, how to, well, be a man.

Don later goes on to wonder if without a father, boys struggle to know how to be men, how to deal with their emotions or how to confidently move forward into life once they�ve left home. I wonder the same things.

I can't imagine that a father's departure does any favors for the mothers who are left to raise young boys on their own. I�m sure my own mother was able to recognize some of these concerns in me and tried to address them, but let�s be honest; there are some things about being a man that boys can only and will only hear from other men. And not any man will do. It must be a man with whom we have a relationship. Say, for example � oh I don�t know � a father?

The good news is that there is, by the Grace of God, the hope of redemption for the fatherless. Time tends to give us a little more perspective than we were afforded as kids. As such, making a good decision isn�t so elusive. Having children � and being committed to them � also goes a long way to reversing some of the backwards thinking we do.

Who knows? I may have a thing or two to teach my kids that I may have not had otherwise.